


Kill the Girl, Become the Warden

by hernameisnotknown



Series: Yven Mahariel [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Minor Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hernameisnotknown/pseuds/hernameisnotknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of the story of the Hero of Ferelden, Yven Mahariel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill the Girl, Become the Warden

Yven Mahariel had always been perceptive. She had picked up on the bitter tang of the clan’s disappointment when she had failed to show a talent for magic as a fledgling, she had noted the whispers comparing her to her mother when she returned from a successful hunt. She had put the pieces together. But it didn’t make the finding out any easier. 

 

Not now. Not with Tamlen gone and the sickness crawling in her like ants beneath the skin. Not with the pain behind her eyes and the gnawing nausea that threatened to pull her to her knees. Not with that shem investigating the mysterious ruins and her future in flux.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing as Ashelle spoke the truths she had so long desired. If this was the only time she’d speak of such things, she had to let her curiosity win out, even against all of the troubles that currently plagued her. She couldn’t help it; she wanted- needed- to _know_ , not just guess. After all these years, she demanded to. 

It was this same familiar need that pressed into her when Duncan insisted Tamlen was beyond their reach. She stood with her sword planted firmly before her, her only pillar of strength, though she tried to disguise her crutch beneath a visage of fortitude. Merrill and Fenarel would look to her for guidance, she knew that much. They always had. If not her, Tamlen… but he was nowhere to be found. The unsettling notion that Duncan was right coursed through her, quick as the pains that shot through her limbs every other second. This… _Blight_ , or whatever Duncan had called it, seemed to be catching up to her. She knew it by the sly glances her clanmates cast her way, by the slick layer of sweat that glazed her skin, the pounding in her eyes, the aching in her bones. But she couldn’t just give up. Tamlen wouldn’t’ve. She shrugged, trying to loosen the knot between her shoulder blades, swinging her sword ever so slightly to try to adjust her weakening arms to the weight of it. 

“You could be wrong.” She replied, and although the words seemed hopeful, she could find no hope in her heart to back them. She wanted to double over, vomit, lie down and retreat into the Beyond, or at the very least fall to her knees, but instead she stared the man down, grip tight on her sword hilt to steady herself. She knew by the look of him, the surety in his eyes, that there was little this shemlen was ever wrong about, but the same could be said of her. Still. Darkspawn? The Taint? Blight-sickness? What did she know of these? Subjects on which he was an expert, yet she couldn’t truthfully claim to have even heard of them before this day, let alone debate the details with a _Grey Warden._

She tapped her sword against the ground, a motion meant to still the shaking that had set into her hands and knees. He watched her keenly only a moment more, then nodded- a quick clip of his chin, almost imperceptible. “As you wish.” He sheathed his own sword, having used a cloth on his belt to wipe it clean. “I will await your return at camp.” With a final sweep of his eyes, he was gone, retreating into the darkness of the strange, awful caverns. 

She couldn’t give meaning to the way he had seemed to assess her before he went, a light in his eyes as if she were a joke he was too polite to laugh at, but the twisting in her gut was a good enough distraction from her thoughts, and she steeled herself, gathering what little strength she had left to her before turning to the others. “Let’s look, then. Quickly but thoroughly- I’d prefer not to run into any more of those… things.”

“Darkspawn.” Merrill quipped astutely.

Yven sighed. “I _know_ …” She followed Merrill’s gaze, whose eyes were grazing the ground curiously for fragments of the… what had he called it? _Eluvian_? That was something that irritated her even more sharply than the pain in her body- why should he know about these _eluvians_ , something clearly ancient and _elvhen_? He had called it Tevinter, but she knew better, the name itself spoke the truth: elvhen - archaic, but nevertheless elvhen - and a knowing glance shared with Merrill as he spoke of it had informed her the First knew this truth just as well as she did. She caught a brief glimpse of herself in a jagged shard, jarring enough to jolt her out of her reverie, and she snapped her fingers impatiently. “Hurry! If we find Tamlen, we don’t want it to be too late!” 

Fenarel marched ahead of them, two years her junior but always eager to prove how strong and capable he was. He had admired Tamlen like a brother, and the need burned within her more potently than the sickness that she see him returned to him. How could this be the outcome? They had just wanted to explore some odd ruins, and then this? Bitter tears perched just out of reach, unable or unwilling to be shed. Perhaps she was dehydrated, but she was glad. She needed to be strong, now more than ever. She’d shed these tears, sure- but later.

Merrill stood by her side, alerting her to the fact that she had yet to move from where she had planted her feet so hard into the ground it was impossible for her knees to give way. She felt her lethallan’s steady stare taking in the clammy pallor of her already too-pale skin, the tug of determination between her brows, the sunken circles around her eyes, the sweat that glistened upon her exposed flesh. It took everything within her to heft her sword from the ground and unlock her knees, a long exhale passing her chapped lips, followed by a wave of exhaustion.

“Enough.” She breathed, “You have other things to worry over.” She tried to make her tone as sharp as her blade, but it only bit like fire for a moment before dropping to a ghostly rasp.

“Of course.” Merrill apologised, quickly pulling ahead of her as they left that accursed room behind. She hoisted the sword before her, arms aching although they knew it’s weight all too well, raking in a long breath before following her clanmates down the dingy corridor. Fenarel had gone right, and she knew from her explorations with Tamlen that this way lead to nothing but a locked door none of them were skilled enough to open, yet her voice was too weak to be heard, even by elvhen ears, so she shut her mouth and let them discover it for themselves, taking respite against a wall as they both applied widely varying - but equally unsuccessful - methods to the lock.

“It’s alright,” she began as they returned to her, “you’ve already seen the room on the other side…” She swallowed, but there was no saliva in her mouth to wet her throat, “We just have to go around.”

“Tamlen tried to teach me to pick locks once…” Fenarel began, falling in between her and Merrill, the laugh escaping him before the remembrance of what they were doing could sour it, leading in to strained silence. No one spoke after that.

Only after they had searched every nook, every cranny, did she say they could go, although Merrill and eventually even Fenarel were insisting they should return to camp, throwing worried glances and mumbled curses her way every time they saw how her condition was deteriorating. They had killed a few more of those skeletons, and she had paused too long at that statue of Falon'Din Tamlen had lectured her over, his words seeming to still echo in those stuffy chambers beneath the earth… but they had not found Tamlen. Not even a trace. 

They emerged into the forest, the sun low on the horizon, casting long shadows before them on their way back to the clan. She trailed behind, a creeping dread in her gut as her mind refused to settle. Her eyes flew from one shadow to the next, because she couldn’t possibly be done searching, no… not until she had found him. She knew he would’ve never given up on her- knew it as surely as the fact that he would have proposed to her eventually- maybe at her vallaslin ceremony in a week, just following her birthday, maybe two years down the road, but he would have. She knew it like she knew she was dying, like she knew _he_ was dying, blight-stricken, somewhere she couldn’t find. She knew it like she knew that shemlen back at camp meant more to her destiny than just saving her life one time in a cave. She knew it like she knew change was upon her… upon them all.


End file.
